


Opening the Door

by Supernatural_loves_of_my_life



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Falling out, M/M, falling back together, first sherlock fanfic i've written, i couldnt tell, might be a little occ, reichenberg falls and season 3 do not apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernatural_loves_of_my_life/pseuds/Supernatural_loves_of_my_life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had been hiding a secret from Sherlock, almost the entire time he had lived in the flat. One day, after weeks of deliberation, he decided to give Sherlock a few hints, hoping that he would figure it out, only to cause a fight between them.<br/>After being approached by Mrs. Hudson on the street one day, John decided there are some loose ends that need to be tied up. This is the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> *no beta*  
> The chapters will probably be short guys, sorry. And it will probably be quick to finish depending on whether or not I want to do an epilogue.

It was raining when John unlocked the door to 221B. It looked just like it had when he had left it weeks ago: dim, red, and cluttered with the odds and ends of a case in progress. He shed his coat and set it on the back of his chair, the one his laptop should have been sitting in front of, had he not moved out.

John sighed when he caught no sight of Sherlock. He should not have expected him to be here. John had not told him that he would be visiting, and according to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock hardly saw the inside of his flat anymore.

John’s shoes tapped on the floor as he strode into the kitchen and peaked in the fridge. He did not know what he was expecting; maybe the usual anatomy and a bagel or two, something that told him that Sherlock was consuming food in his absence but John found neither. He closed the fridge, glancing around the flat. He saw an empty teacup sitting next to what looked like a partially eaten biscuit. He could not tell how old they were but it erased some of his worry.

John leaned against the kitchen table, scanning the objects that littered it for a clue to what Sherlock had been up to in his absence. According to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had been up to exactly what he has always been up to, but the look the she had given him when he had ran into her the other day… she had almost looked desperate when she handed him, what used to be, his key to the flat. 

It had taken John several nights of deliberation before he had actually considered coming back here. Several nights of wondering if he would be welcome. Several nights of putting his head in his hands and recounting what exactly had made him leave. And despite the fact that Sherlock wasn’t there, John refused to leave, because he knew if he did, he would not be coming back.

Somewhere in his thoughts, John had moved into the sitting room and perched himself on a chair, from which he could see the window, and a bit of sunshine peaking out from behind the clouds. He could also see his cane, which he hadn’t a need for in years, resting on the floor, behind the other chair. John could not remember the last time he had seen in, and as he took a closer look at the flat, he realized that most items of his that he had not seen in a while were lying in their usual spots. He could have sworn that he had packed all of his possessions and brought them with him, but there they were, all sitting in Sherlock’s flat. The mug John had bought to replace the one Sherlock had broken in one of his sparks of insanity, was sitting on the table to his right. A medical journal John had just purchased while working on a rather gruesome case, rested on the mantle next to a skull. His slippers lay under the table by the chair he had set his coat down on.

John was rather puzzled by their sudden appearance but before he could really start asking questions, before he could wonder about the whys and the hows, the man he had come to see appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, John.”


	2. Just a Peak

John quickly stood, as Sherlock walked into the room. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d be seeing you anytime soon.” Sherlock said, after removing his coat and then his scarf. “What brings you here?”

John grasped for words while staring into the eyes of his former best friend. “I—um—,” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Hudson requested that I stop over for a bit.” He did not want to say that she was worrying. If he wanted this conversation to get anywhere, he’d have to avoid being accusatory.

“What for?” Surprisingly to John, Sherlock’s voice sounded bitter. He watched as the man clenched his fist around the scarf he had yet to put down. “Why come when you clearly do not want to be here John?” Sherlock on the other hand was very accusatory.

John sighed at the allegation. Just because he felt awkward, didn’t mean he did not want to come here. It didn’t mean that he did not want to be there, only that he did not know what to expect.

“Your posture says it all. You’re uncomfortable, and the bags under your eyes tell me that you haven’t slept well the past few nights. Was it because you were that hung up on coming here?” Sherlock didn’t pause for an answer. “If it is that difficult to be in my presence, answer me this John, why even bother in the first place?” That was the one thing that Sherlock struggled to figure out. What was John’s motive for coming to his flat? Did it have something to do with the fight that had resulted in John leaving? Yes, John had said that Mrs. Hudson had requested that he be here, probably just the worried habit of an old woman, but John could have said no.

John didn’t answer right away. Despite not having actually said much, Sherlock was flushed and John could imagine that his mind was racing to deduce the reason for his presence. John took a small step forward and spit out his response, completely forgetting about not being accusatory. “Mrs. Hudson’s worried about you. I wanted to calm her mind a little by visiting,” he paused in preparation of what he actually wanted to say. “I figured we could talk. It has been a few weeks and I’m sure that there were things left unsaid on both of our parts.”

John once again thought back to exactly what _had_ been said. He remembered being furious at Sherlock’s blank look and the way the man had brushed him off every time he had tried to elaborate on what he was trying to say.

Eventually, it had gotten to the point where he had started yelling at Sherlock for being emotionally stunted. All he had wanted to do was hint to Sherlock that he had stronger feelings than he had been letting on but the man hadn’t taken the hint. Sherlock never got what was trying to be said when emotions were involved.

Sherlock also thought back to the fight. John had been unreasonably vague and inconsistent that day. Sherlock had figured that he was hiding something. Was what he was hiding that day his motive for returning now? He recalled being called several things, a tosser and a dick included, but the most peculiar of them all was that John had yelled at him and told him that he was emotionally stunted.

Now, Sherlock knew this. He was very aware that where emotions were involved, he shouldn’t be. But just because he was emotionally stunted, as John had so elegantly put it, didn’t mean that he didn’t have them, he just chose to efficiently ignore them. This is one of the parts he enjoyed most about his brain, there were lots of spaces to store things and by storing away his emotions, he made more room for other more important things that would help him solve cases.

It also isn’t to say that he couldn’t access his emotions, Sherlock knew how to work his mind in the most efficient ways, able to access everything, but only when he wants to.

When John had first moved in he had taken a peak, just a quick glimpse, just enough to make him slam the door shut again. When John had moved out however, he started opening the door further. Little by little, he had started taking peaks more frequently. He never knew what to make of the emotions, what to call them, or why they reacted so much to John, but every time he took a peak at them, he would leave his flat afterwards and make progress on a case, to help him forget.


	3. The Need to Know

John and Sherlock found themselves staring at each other, both off in another world. Sherlock was the first one to make a move. He rounded the table and made his way to stand in front of John. Not too close by the standards of most people, but close enough to see that the fibers on his collar were sticking out. He had to have been playing with it rather recently. Was he nervous? Anxious even? Maybe he could find out. “It seemed as though you had said a lot that night, John. What more could there be?”

Sherlock watched Johns face as the furrows near his eyes became more pronounced and his discomfort deepened. “Sherlock, I have to apologize. I was out of line the way that I went about the conversation—.”

“Conversation!” Sherlock huffed. “You were extremely vague and erratic the whole day. I hardly got a word in and then to top off the cake you screamed at me for being emotionally stunted! Like I hadn’t known already.” He pursed his lips, waiting for a rebuttal.

John sighed; he really did regret what had come out of his mouth that day. He knew he had been harsh, but had he also been too vague? He hadn’t wanted to come right out and say it, for the sake of not embarrassing himself. He couldn’t really imagine that Sherlock would have made it too painful for him had he just come out and said it but he hadn’t really wanted to take that jump. “I _am_ sorry, Sherlock. I was being everything I accused you of. I just—,” He was starting to get a bit frustrated again.

This is the first time he’s seen his friend in what felt like a really long time and he kind of just wanted everything to go back to normal. Except, those feelings that had been nagging him for months kept urging him to finish the talk. To be straight forward with him, no matter how much pain it caused him in the end. It’s always better to know right?

“I just—wish you’d take a hint sometimes!” John was starting to feel uneasy.

“Take a hint, John? It’s not my fault you’re being vague! It’s not my fault humanity lacks the nerve to just be direct and honest!” Sherlock wanted nothing more than to open the door in his head, he wanted to know what he was feeling, but would it be for the best? “Don’t you think I can tell when something is being kept from me John? Don’t you think that I may be slightly bothered by the fact that I _can’t figure you out?_ ”

Sherlock couldn’t take it. He had to _know._ Sherlock swung open the door; it made his chest _hurt_ and the blood surge through his veins, but he endured it. What emotions could make one’s heart beat so rapidly? What emotion actually puts someone in physical pain?

“There are some things that are best left unsaid, Sherlock.” He could feel his resolve withering away and any confidence he had in the conversation faltering as well.


	4. Flatmate, partner, and best friend

Sherlock could hardly believe him. Best left unsaid? Some things are best left un _felt,_ yet he was feeling them for John. Sherlock stared at him while trying to make some sense of the things he was feeling. He could easily enough identify some of the strong ones like anger and frustration. He had been subject to those his entire life. But there were some new ones that, were he anyone else, he could have figured out immediately and dealt with. 

Sherlock clenched his fist once again around the scarf in his hand. Not knowing was driving him mad. “Then were exactly is this conversation going, John?” He stopped to observe him. Sherlock noticed that John’s shoulders were slumped a bit more than they were a few minutes ago. John’s left foot had shifted forward while he was speaking and John was worrying at his cheek. “You clearly stated that we both had things to say, and then you slighted yourself by then saying that things were best left unsaid. Which is it? Because either we can have the conversation that you originally came here to have, or you can leave and I will continue on with solving a case.” By the time he had finished speaking he was breathing rapidly and his heart was beating faster than before.

He wanted this all to stop. He was frustrated and hated speaking to John like this. At the same time though, he absolutely hated not knowing. He hated not knowing how to describe his feelings. He hated not knowing what John was thinking. He hated not knowing what John was _hiding_. Whatever it was that John was hiding, was what worried him and bothered him the most.

Sherlock thought about the way John had acted before the original argument. He had been tense around him for weeks, if not months. John had taken to talking less and watching more, while working on cases. It was almost as if he had been trying to separate himself from Sherlock but Sherlock knew he hadn’t been. No, he knew that John cared for him. He had stated it on multiple occasions. He knew John cared what happened to him. He had known John would take the ploy when he ran into Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock had acted worse than he actually was whenever he ran into Mrs. Hudson or whenever she stopped by to check on him. He knew that she was a worrying old woman who, as soon as he even mentioned John, even if in passing, would take the initiative and have the other man over here as soon as she could. He had realized that it was slightly manipulative of him, but John was avoiding him, and he needed his partner back to efficiently solve cases. He hadn’t counted on John taking so long to actually come to the flat, no. He had thought the man would be back the day after. Sherlock had underestimated him though; like he always tended to do, when it came to John. He had underestimated just how much John was at war with him self, or maybe he had underestimated just how big this secret was that John was keeping from him.

But what was so big that John would avoid him for weeks on end? What was so big that he had to move out of the flat after their fight?

Sherlock was tempted to go into his mind palace and figure out just that but he didn’t want to miss anything should John respond. So he waited. His chest hurt and his ears rung, but he waited.

John exhaled loudly and avoided Sherlock’s eyes. “Whatever you think I am keeping from you… it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, Sherlock.” John shifted subconsciously closer to the man he was talking to. He wanted to get closer to Sherlock, he wanted to move back in, but if he ever wanted that to happen, he couldn’t tell him. He had to keep it a secret as to not be rejected and sent away. “Please just ignore whatever deduction you have going on in your head.” John’s hands were shaking from restraint. He was restraining himself from putting his face in his hands. “I just want everything to go back to normal—." 

“Normal?” Sherlock almost cracked a smile, but only managed a grimace. He was frustrated to no end and needed this conversation over now. He had the urge to grab John, strangle him probably. The urge was strong but he forced words out instead. “John, really? You’re dealing with a highly functioning sociopath who has been trying particularly hard _not_ to force you into telling him _exactly_ what he wants to know.” Sherlock’s grip increased on his scarf and his pulse was erratic. “I don’t think anyone should classify that as normal, but I suppose you should do as you please!” Sherlock was getting louder with every sentence and trying not to clench his teeth. “Why should you tell your former flatmate, partner, and person you have called your _best friend_ on several occasions about a subject that he can _clearly_ see is bothering you? Why should you indulge him in a little secret, so that he can slam shut the bloody door in his head and go back to ignoring every single bloody emotion that you are causing him to—.” Sherlock cut off at the look on John’s face. And was glad he did when John fiercely whispered his next words.

“I couldn’t tell you because I fancy you, and I honestly don’t think you’d understand!” John glared up at his former flatmate terrified of what he might say next.

Sherlock knew what every single one of these words meant. He could tell you their definitions and new profound ways to use them, but he chose to ignore the insulting part because he honestly had never thought the first set of words would be aimed at him. Both he and John were breathing heavily, and Sherlock had moved closer in the few seconds since John had spoken.

Sherlock, in the entire expanse of his mind, couldn’t figure out words to say in response to what John had told him. He needed to communicate with him someway, though. His chest felt tighter than it had and he couldn’t help but wonder if what John said could explain the emotions raging inside of him. He knew he had to be closer in _some way_ , _anything_ to relieve the pain in his chest. Would it be strange to hug him? His parents had given him hugs as a child. But no, that wasn’t what he wanted. He needed to be closer. If his emotions could really be explained by what John had told him, he could find a cure some other way. If he fancied John, in return, would it be acceptable to..?

John had only stood there, breathing hard, for a few seconds before Sherlock surged forward. John had thought that maybe he was going to punch him or violently push him into the nearest wall, but he didn’t.

Sherlock’s lips pressed firmly against John’s own. He could also feel a soft cloth, a scarf, still clenched in the other man’s hand.

Sherlock’s door was wide open and he, for once, wasn’t trying to force it back closed. He basked in the new warmth that enveloped his chest, but once he realized just how forceful he was being, he pulled away.

John’s mouth hung open a little when Sherlock pulled away. He didn’t move; he didn’t even open his eyes until Sherlock spoke.

“John, did I do it wrong?” The confusion and _doubt_ was clear in his voice.

John paused for a few seconds, letting what had happed sink in. That was one response he hadn’t anticipated. And he didn’t even care when he let his emotion leak into his voice. “No you didn’t, _come here_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know how far this chapter would take me, but I believe there will only be one chapter after this, perhaps an epilogue. And yes, there is a quote in there from The Sign of Three. I do not own it.


	5. Slow Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo terribly sorry guys!! I swear I meant to update this at the beginning of February! I just never got to it when I went back to school. Either way, here is the last chapter! I'm thinking up the epilogue as we speak!

_John’s mouth hung open a little when Sherlock pulled away. He didn’t move; he didn’t even open his eyes until Sherlock spoke._

_“John, did I do it wrong?” The confusion and_ _doubt_ _was clear in his voice._

_John paused for a few seconds, letting what had happened sink in. That was one response he hadn’t anticipated. And he didn’t even care when he let his emotion leak into his voice. “No you didn’t,_ _come here_ _.”_

John pulled him in and locked Sherlock’s mouth firmly with his own.

The next kiss was as sweet as Sherlock could muster. It eased the pain in his chest and made the constantly churning emotions seem simpler, easier to deal with, easier to think around.

John’s hands dropped to Sherlock’s waist and he basked in the feeling of exhilaration. He had hoped for this kind of relationship with the man for so long, and now his could not believe it might happen. His mind raced as he imagined all of the possibilities for the future. What would happen from this point on?

Sherlock’s mind, on the other hand, was slow and groggy for the first time in years. He could hardly focus on bringing his hands up to grasp John’s lapel.

The kiss was long and drawn out. Neither person wanted to move, save for the occasional adjustment of a hand.

Sherlock’s cold fingers moving to caress John’s neck made John jerk away and huff out a chuckle. He smiled and apologetically said, “Your hand’s are cold."

Sherlock ignored his statement and jumped to the first thing that came to his mind. “When will you move back?” He had never felt so eager for something that was not a case. He needed an answer now so that they could proceed on with the day. 

John smiled again, fondly. “Immediately.” 

Sherlock stood taller and taller and took a deep breath. “Great,” He paused for a moment to get his mind back on track, “but I really do need to get back to the case. Want to help?” He knew John wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Absolutely,” John grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and made his way to the door, “and I will move my stuff back in tonight. I don’t think I will require help considering half of my belongings are mysteriously back in in the flat already.” 

Sherlock gave John a little smirk and strode past him, fixing his scarf. “Come along John, as much as I’d like to keep Lestrade waiting, I’d also like to see his reaction to my date.” 

“Date?” John smiled again. “We’re going to look at a corpse.” He followed Sherlock down the steps and stopped a few from the bottom. 

Sherlock turned around, “Yes, a date. I have an appointment to attend to with a person who I am romantically inclined.” He motioned towards the door with an imploring look. “You really should buy a dictionary John. Now, lets move along, shall we?”

Sherlock strode out the door, not pausing to wait for John again.


End file.
